Shannon's Aura

Not a week has gone by since the untimely death of Shannon hasn’t crossed my mind. I gave up on asking “Why?’’ long before I ever met this beautiful young woman. I’ve seen too many pass before her. Nevertheless, she has left a mark that will stay with me as I travel through my own life.

We met a few years ago as she was pitching a fundraiser for Gilda’s Club Metro Detroit, a cancer support community where she came for support. She was in the midst of a clinical trial to treat her breast cancer that was not cooperating despite her heavy chemotherapy regimen.

First diagnosed at 25, she knew the odds for long-term survival were not good. Like many young women diagnosed with breast cancer, her tumors were aggressive. Determined to live her life to the fullest, she focused instead on her upcoming role as newlywed and her new mission -- to help other women in her age group facing similar challenges.

Statistically, women under 40 make up a relatively small number of overall women (and men) diagnosed with breast cancer. Still, that number ranges near 250,000 nationwide with about 11,500 new cases annually.

With little emotional support available for women with breast cancer in their 20s and 30s --Shannon first came to Gilda’s Club with her idea to create a group specifically for this demographic. With full support of our program director who became the group’s facilitator, Shannon proudly dubbed it, “The Rack Pack.’’ It didn’t take long for the comfy chairs in our clubhouse to be filled.

These women, who should have been out exploring the world, planning weddings, starting careers, or turning dens into baby rooms, were here instead, struggling with physical and emotional scars and uncertain futures.

At Gilda’s Club and beyond, they formed the most amazing bond, helping each other cope. Shannon was a powerful force, one who always came with a good attitude, a sense of hope, a reason to keep moving forward. She was beautiful, smart, sensitive and warm. But, there was something else about her -- spiritual energy, an aura, perhaps -- that made people want to stay close by.

While juggling her treatment (which required regular travel to Texas from her metro Detroit home), Shannon decided to give something back to Gilda’s Club for supporting her and her loved ones. Having been part of a successful fundraiser in Austin, she set out to recreate one for this local cancer support community in Royal Oak.

It wasn’t long before her family and friends were working on what would become Bras for a Cause, a fantastic evening held last September that raised nearly $50,000 for Gilda’s Club. Her uncle, Dave Coulier of Full House, served as Master of Ceremonies.

She wanted to do it again this year, setting her new goal at $100,000. But, as plans got under way, Shannon’s illness took over.

Shannon Iezzi Watson was 29 years old when she slipped away, creating a sadness that continues to linger around here. Her friends, several with the same cancer type, hang on to hope that modern medicine, different circumstances and faith will allow them more time than she had.

Now, it is these women along with Shannon’s husband, Kevin, his mother Edie, and a handful of other loved ones, who are carrying Shannon's bright torch. Despite their own grief, they are honoring Shannon’s wish. Through a lot of tears, I’m sure, they are working from Shannon’s notes to organize this year’s event in her honor. Bras for a Cause: In Memory of Shannon Watson, will be held on Saturday, September 18, 2010 at the Royal Oak Music Theatre. Coulier, will repeat his role as MC. It will include a strolling buffet, live and silent auction, a display of decorated bras and a fashion show featuring the most creative bras modeled by women who truly deserve to shine – breast cancer survivors who could easily be drawn into sadness but instead choose to focus their own beautiful energy on making sure that Shannon’s Rack Pack will be available to other young women.

While Gilda's Club is a place that prides itself on providing emotional and social support to people with all kinds of cancer, it's the people who come here that make it successful. Shannon may have initially joined Gilda's Club for herself, but she touched and inspired a lot of people along the way with her great attitude, her knowledge and her humor.

Where ever Shannon’s soul has settled, surely the aura around it is still beaming.

P.S. In all my years as a writer, I still have not come up with words to ease the pain that loved ones feel after such a traumatic loss. I can only try. To Kevin, Shannon's family and the amazing, courageous women of The Rack Pack, I wish you comfort in knowing that your lives have been touched by an angel disguised as a wife, a daughter, a sister, a niece, and a friend. May her spirit continue to inspire us all.

Man in the Mirror

Recently, I had the privilege of talking with a cancer survivor about his life - more like the life he envisions since going through his diagnosis in February and surgery. Prior to this conversation, I only knew him in passing. Still, I could sense his inner struggle. While my background isn't social work, my training as a longtime journalist, I suppose, taught me how to read people. Then again, who isn't struggling after a cancer diagnosis? No matter, I welcomed his request to talk with me about some ideas he had about changing careers. As I suspected, the conversation really wasn't about that at all. It was about the transformation that was occurring as a result of his cancer experience -- the transformation that so many cancer survivors go through if they are lucky enough to work (and live) through the physical and emotional agony that the disease stirs up.

While the process is often painful, many cancer survivors (and care givers) say it's worth the experience. Some go so far as to call it a "gift." I'm not so sure I could call it that, but I get it. I lost my mother, my mother-in-law and my sister-in law to cancer. And, I watched both my sister and my son struggle with it. Personal experience tells me that there is no good in cancer itself, but there are great things ahead for survivors and their loved ones whose senses are awakened by the experience. Facing mortality has a way of doing that.

For this 50-something father with two kids, the changes are under way. He told me he's ready to be happy but he has some obstacles in his way, namely a bad marriage and a high-stress job. He wants to run away from it all. He wants to chase the dreams that have been swimming around in his head for too long.

In a nutshell, this man is deperate for change even if it means he has to wipe his slate clean. "I want to be happy,'' he said. "I want to simplify my life. I want to help people.'''

I get it. And, I know that thousands of others who have walked the cancer path -- or any other life-altering experience -- get it, too. Life is short. But, not so short that it can't be filled with fun, laughter and personal rewards.

I have been lucky enough to come out of my son's cancer experience with a new sense of appreciation for my life and all who cross it. Years of exposure through my career as a newspaper journalist to crime, corruption, death, disaster and battles over petty things couldn't compare to my year in a pediatric cancer ward where dozens of children, including my own precious one-year-old son fought for their lives. More than a few did not win. I don't think I've witnessed anything more painful than watching a parent say goodbye to a child. (Nor have I witnessed anything more amazing than watching and feeling the energy in the room as a young boy descended into heaven.)

Fortunately, my story didn't end that way. Despite his rare kidney cancer, my son is now a happy, healthy 14-year-old. The impact of the experience, however, has lifelong repercussions. Even today, my eyes well up at hearing him laugh, watching him play baseball or putting a band-aid on his latest scrape. Still, I panic when he complains of leg pain, a headache or anything else that most parents would pass off as growing pains, stress, or the common cold.

I often wonder why I put myself smack dab in the middle of a cancer support community, where I am reminded daily of the nightmare my family went through. Some days are harder than others. Some days, we celebrate remissions, successful surgeries and non-cancer-related events that include weddings and births and marriages. Other days, we mourn, we cry, we try to cope because as much as we know about the sadness of cancer, the hurt and frustration are just as painful as they were the last time and the time before that . . .

Then, someone walks into my office -- someone who is struggling to make sense of his own nightmare. Like so many, he wants there to be some good from this. For some reason, our paths crossed. I can help him simply by listening, sharing my own experiences, and encouraging him to keep moving forward. And, I doubt he knows this, but he has already helped me. He's my reminder that I am in the right place right now.

My new friend still has quite a journey ahead of him. Cancer has changed him. It has made him evaluate the life he has been living for so many years. It has forced him to look in the mirror. And, slowly but surely, it will give him the courage to make choices that will enrich the rest of his life.

From someone who is still stumbling, my advice to him is "One step at a time.''